Please reblog this if you’re not an organ dealer, pedophile, rapist, or a psychopath.
i need to prove my mom that people on internet are normal people. i will show her this at every 100 notes.
only 187 notes.
SUPERLOCK IMPROVING ANOTHER POST
i hate when applications are like “why do you want to work here”
because i need money
what do you want me to say omfg
I HAVE A PASSION FOR FROZEN YOGURT
Not even albatrosses can keep me away!
To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12, not one person claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know me from the Hob, or knew my father, or have encountered Prim, who no one can help loving. So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.
Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don’t expect it because I don’t think of District 12 as a place that cares about me. But a shift has occurred since I stepped up to take Prim’s place, and now it seems I have become someone precious. At first one, then another, then almost ever member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.
Reading this in English and idc what anyone else says I fucking love it
said every freshman ever.